Here
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: "Get comfortable, 'cause baby, it's cold outside, and we've got another movie to watch." Twoshot. Tiva.
1. Part One

**This was written for Megan on tumblr because she won a contest I had, haha. But I am posting it here, too, because who doesn't like wintry fluff with a teeny tiny dash of angst?**

"You're quiet," Tony observes, tossing a piece of popcorn in his mouth. He glances down at his companion's head, which lolled onto his shoulder a good half hour ago. She keeps it there now and doesn't look at him.

"I am watching the movie."

"Usually you talk during all the good parts, and I have to tell you to shut up," he points out. "But you're surprisingly tolerable tonight."

Now Ziva sits up, crosses her arms over her chest. Immediately he misses her warmth, and the ice-cold glare she sends him doesn't help. "Fine. I will sit here and talk about the merits of Jodi Foster even though you think her performance in his movie is mediocre. Will that make you feel better?"

He furrows his brow, unsure how to respond to her snippiness. Finally, he says, "No, that won't make me feel better, 'cause your heart won't be in it. Tell me what's wrong."

She inhales, holds the breath, _one, two, three_, and then releases it. She pulls his green afghan tighter around her. "My father called. He… is coming to town in a few weeks."

Tony pauses the movie. Priorities have just shifted, and he does, too, in order to face Ziva. "We didn't have to do this, you know," he tells her. "I would've understood if you needed the night to yourself."

She shakes her head. "I wanted the company." After a moment of thought, she adds, "And this is what we do now, yes? We… share. We don't hide things."

"That seems to be the case." Both of them speak carefully, as if the new bond they've been forging recently could still be broken. Tony has his doubts- he and Ziva are strong. Then again, his relationship with her is the most important one in his life. It should be treated with care. "So… do you wanna see him?"

"I do not know. My feelings toward him are so mixed, Tony."

"Yeah." They fall silent, but it's comfortable. She curls into the back of the couch, eyes drifting shut, and he pats her knee. Several minutes pass before she repositions herself against his side. He's surprised at how relieved that makes him feel.

"Press play," she says.

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It's snowing outside when the movie ends. Big flakes blow sideways in the wind, dance under the streetlamps, and rapidly descend to the ground. Tony and Ziva stand at the window and watch, mesmerized. Never mind the fact that this is D.C. and they see snow several times a year; no matter how common, there is a certain novelty about it that never completely fades away.

"I should go," Ziva says.

He turns toward her. She is stretching, arms high above her head. "You can't go out in this."

"It just started, Tony."

"I'm not worried about the roads. I'm worried about the fact that there's no way you'd be able to see out there, and you drive like a maniac in the best of circumstances."

Ziva scowls at him. "I will be fine."

As she starts to walk away, he quickly steps in front of her. She narrows her eyes, but he ignores her sour expression. "Come on. It's Friday. No work tomorrow, hopefully not on Sunday either. What could you possibly lose from a bit of partner bonding?" His concern over her driving is genuine, but there's also a part of him that wants her to stay _just because_. And right now, there's a little flicker in her eyes that makes him think she might want the same thing.

"Fine," she says, plopping back onto the couch, and he can't suppress a grin. "What are we going to do?"

Tony grabs the afghan she abandoned a few minutes ago and wraps it around her again. "There you go. Get comfortable, 'cause baby, it's cold outside, and we've got another movie to watch."

"I do not think that last part is in the song," she says, biting her lip, and he knows it's an attempt not to let a laugh escape. He smiles once more, doesn't even try to hide it. When he stoops down in front of the DVD shelf, she calls, "Tony."

"Yeah?"

"You picked last time. It's my turn. I choose _Pirates of the Caribbean_."

And of course he can't really argue, since he more or less made her stay, so he puts the disc in the player and allows Johnny Depp to fill his flat screen.

0000000000

At some point, her head ends up in his lap. She falls sideways and it just lands there, startling him and causing both of his hands to shoot upwards so that he is very pointedly not touching her. Is he even allowed to? What the hell should he be doing right now?

Ziva isn't looking at him. In fact, the way she's acting, this is a totally normal position for them to be in. He slowly lowers one hand and settles it on her side. She either doesn't notice or doesn't mind, and he breathes again, allowing his other hand to find its way into her hair.

With every passing moment, he becomes more comfortable; it isn't too long before he can relax fully and almost- _almost_- forget about her weight against his thighs.

Then, suddenly, she flips over onto her back and peers up at him, and his gut clenches in anticipation of a reprimand. But what she says instead is, "What do you think I should do?"

"About what?" he asks, confused.

"My father."

Tony tilts his head toward her. Of course he has some thoughts about the infamous Eli David, but he also knows that he can't share them. This is her battle, and as much as he would like to help fight it, that won't bring her any personal peace. "Ziva, you're the only one who can decide what's best for _you_, as far as your dad goes. I can't tell you what to do."

She huffs. "Since when do you have any reservations about bossing me around?"

"Not my place here." His fingers wind into her hair again. It's the only form of comfort he can offer right now. He watches as she visibly deflates, lost, and he makes a snap decision to add, "You know… here's the thing about your dad. There's plenty of bad stuff about him-"

"I thought you weren't going to-"

"Let me finish. So, yeah, maybe I'm not exactly the president of his fan club. But I also have to wonder… about his good points. Things that might redeem him. Because he _did_ father the most… beautiful, incredible woman I've ever met."

Ziva's jaw drops, and he feels himself blush. _Too much_, he thinks, then begins to babble. "Should I not have said that? I'm sorry, I just- hey, let's make hot chocolate. You want hot chocolate? I like hot chocolate."

Tony, completely flustered, tries to scoot out from underneath her, but she sits up and grabs his arm. In the next second, she throws a knee over his lap and sits on him so that he cannot go anywhere.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

She narrows her eyes. "Did you mean what you said?"

The only way to make this situation any worse would be to retract his compliment, so he doesn't. He levels his gaze at her. "Yeah. I meant it, Ziva."

"Then there is no reason you should not have said it."

Only now, in his immense relief, does he register the fact that her entire _body _is resting on him. She is very, very close, close enough that he can feel her breath, close enough that their chests brush. His hands settle on the outsides of her thighs even as he wonders whether or not that's appropriate right now. Is this conversation still about her father? Or is it about them?

Ziva pulls his head down and kisses him.

Okay. Probably about them.

Tony kisses her back, forsaking all common sense. He grips her hips and draws her into him until every inch of his torso is in contact with hers. Maybe they shouldn't be doing this, maybe it'll ruin everything, but _damn it_, he's wanted it for a long time. Now that she's taken the chance, he will, too.

So he holds her tight, lets his hands trace her curves, opens his mouth when she strokes his bottom lip with her tongue. The kiss is soft, unrushed. They are going along at the same steady, somewhat leisurely pace their relationship has been progressing at, and it's good.

It's perfect.

She pulls away first. Their foreheads come together, and he watches as her eyes drift shut. The look on her face is one of extreme concentration, as if she is thinking something through or trying to commit what just happened to memory. He'd be doing the latter if he wasn't so distracted by Ziva and the locks of hair framing her face and the hand she presses against his chest. He doesn't even attempt to fight his urge to touch her. As his fingertips trail lightly across her flushed cheek, her eyelids slowly lift. She smiles.

"So," he manages to say conversationally, despite the pounding of his heart. "What was that for?"

"For being you."

He remembers when she caught him snooping through her e-mail over two years ago, and what she demanded of him afterwards is fresh in his mind. _Apologize. For being you._

She has just used those same words, but tonight, they carry a much better connotation.

Tony, suddenly feeling drunk and delirious with joy, tugs her back to him. "Then I'll say it again," he murmurs, pressing one kiss to her neck, and then he recaptures her lips, though he draws back frequently in order to speak. "You are… the most… incredible… beautiful…"

"Okay," she laughs, tugging on the ends of his hair. "Now, shh."

0000000000

Eventually, they stop making out long enough to notice that the movie is still playing. Neither of them is particularly interested anymore, so Tony turns the TV off. It had been the only light in the room; they are now cloaked in darkness and only able to see the snow falling outside the window and vague outlines of each other. Ziva has recovered that afghan and draped it over them both. She has her arms around his waist and her head on his chest and he is rubbing her back and their limbs are entangled and it really can't be described as anything other than _cuddling_, which he definitely didn't expect to do tonight.

And yet, here he is.

His body is tingling and will be for quite a while, but he gathers enough wits to ask, "What do you think you're gonna do?"

"Hmm?" Ziva burrows further into him, grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt as she does. He knows he shouldn't get used to this, not yet. Not until their spontaneous kissing has been followed by an actual discussion in which they explicitly state that _yes_, this will become a habit.

Even so, he can't help the intense affection and desire he feels for her.

"About your dad," he says.

"Oh." She shrugs. "I do not know. I have some time to make a decision, yes?"

"Yeah." Tony twirls some of her curls around his fingers. "I just… you know, if you need to… talk more… I'm still here."

Ziva lifts her head. A chaste, unexpected kiss is dropped onto his collarbone. "I know," she says quietly. "You are always here."


	2. Part Two

**So… a second part. I couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote it, even though the story and the episode don't exactly match up. The two main inconsistencies:**

**1. We now know that Ziva had never been to Tony's apartment prior to Shiva, but that's where she was in part one of this story.**

**2. Also in part one of this story, we learn that she knew of her father's visit in advance. In the show, Eli surprised her.**

**All the events of part one happened, and so did all the events of Shiva. Mostly, this story doesn't directly contradict canon. There were just a few liberties that were taken.**

**Enjoy!**

Tony reclines on his couch and takes his cell phone out of his pocket for the second time in five minutes. Again, he checks for messages and voicemails. None and none. This is an irrational ritual; he has the ringer turned all the way up. If she had called or sent a text, he would have been alerted already.

He's just the slightest bit unnerved because she called every day that she was in Israel, and while no such promise was made, he'd kind of expected to hear from her after she landed in D.C. tonight.

Sliding the phone onto the coffee table, he returns his attention to the old Western on his flat screen. Or tries to, anyway. His mind is still on Ziva. He's anxious to see her- she's been gone for eight days- but, at the same time, is nervous at the prospect. Their relationship is in limbo and has been since they made out a month ago. It hasn't happened again. They never really discussed it. After that night, they danced around each other at the office for a couple days, but things returned to normal relatively quickly. The whole situation frustrated him- he had put his heart on the line, made confessions concerning how he felt about her. He couldn't just shrug it off. But he did try to be understanding; dealing with the implications of kissing her partner was probably more stress than she needed, what with her estranged father coming to town.

So he decided not to bring it up. He was going to, but not until Eli returned to Israel.

And then… everything happened.

Her father was killed, and she became the Mossad version of herself. Closed off from everybody. Hell-bent on revenge. A year ago, he wouldn't have been surprised by this, but in the past few months, the two of them had grown closer. So, yeah, he really didn't expect her to repeatedly shun him the way she did. If he's being completely honest with himself, it hurt.

Something changed, though, when he went to the airfield in a last-ditch effort to get through to her. The memory is fresh in his mind, as if it's brand-new: Ziva's eyes welling up. Being pulled into a tight hug. Tentatively wrapping his arms around her waist, unsure whether he was allowed to. Her cheek, soft against his, as he whispered, "_At lo levad_." The sparkle behind her tears when she responded, "I know."

Soon after they made out, she had said those two words, and she had followed them with, "You are always here." If she does know both of these things, he shouldn't be worrying.

Right?

He checks his phone again.

Nothing.

This waiting game is getting old.

Tony sighs. Briefly, he considers calling her, but ends up dialing the number for the takeout place down the street instead, figuring the walk there and back will distract him for at least a little while, and that maybe food will calm his nerves. After placing his order, he gets off the couch. Grabs his keys. Opens the door.

And finds Ziva David on the other side.

They stare at each other for several seconds. She's tan; more importantly, the bags under her eyes are gone. Despite the fact that she's been traveling all day, she looks refreshed.

He eventually notices that she has a large duffel bag thrown over her shoulder. "Here, I'll take that," he says, and half-expects her to argue, but she hands it over. It's heavy; he lets out a grunt that he hopes sounds manly. "Wanna come in?"

"Sure." Chewing on her bottom lip, she does. Tony shuts and locks the door behind her, then places her bag down just inside of it. Ziva stays where she is, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Haven't been home yet?" Stupid question- she wouldn't be dragging her luggage around if she had.

"No. I got in a couple of hours ago."

Silence falls until he breaks it. "So. How… how was it?"

She doesn't balk, as he had feared. "It was… satisfying," she says carefully. "My father has been buried on the land he loved. All his legal affairs have been handled. I was able to reconnect with family members I had not seen in years." Ziva sighs, shoulders rising and then drooping as if they are bearing the weight of the world. "I spent some time alone. Thinking. Praying. Closure… it seems within my reach now."

"Good." The point of her calls had been to let him know she was alright- she seemed to sense that he was worried. But she didn't offer any information about her activities in Israel, and he didn't probe. He's glad to hear that it was time well spent. "Shmiel stay there?"

"Yes. He sends his greetings and best wishes. You know… he is quite fond of you."

A touch of heat creeps into his cheeks and he ducks his head, embarrassed. He knew this already; Shmiel thanked him personally for 'taking care of my Ziva'. The older man is important to her, and he's one of the few people who has never screwed her over. Having his approval means much more to Tony than he's comfortable admitting out loud. "Yeah?"

She nods, but doesn't elaborate. Instead, she crosses over to stand just a couple feet in front of him. "I missed you," she says quietly.

His heart skips a beat as all his faith in them comes flooding back. "I missed you, too," he breathes. "A lot."

"And I'm sorry."

Tony cocks an eyebrow. "For what, Ziva?"

"For the way I treated you."

"You were grieving," he says quietly. "And that was how you wanted to do it, and that's fine. You were the only one who mattered. Not me. Not anyone else. Don't apologize." Now he lifts one corner of his mouth to give her a half-smile. "But I _am_ really relieved you're talking to me again."

Suddenly, she pitches forward and throws her arms around him. He takes a surprised step back but still manages to catch her, and when he does, he holds her close. Even though she is the one actively seeking comfort, he draws plenty of it from holding her. Tony presses his lips against the top of her head on a whim. She doesn't seem to mind; if anything, she tightens her grip on him.

When Ziva begins to sway back and forth, he moves along with her. It's just their bodies, at first; then they start to step. Left. Right. Back to the left. She brings her hands up, loops them around his neck, and he squeezes her hips. The realization that he is practically _dancing _with _Ziva _in his _living room_ hits hard and fast and unexpectedly.

There is no music, no beat to follow, but for maybe minutes and maybe hours, they dance. They dance, and it feels like the beginning of something new.

And when their feet become still and their eyes lock on each other, he sees in her eyes that this isn't just new. This is permanent.

_She's always gonna be here, too_.


End file.
